Lost & Insecure You Found Me
by Wickedgal08
Summary: O/S AU. Set after Fire Water. Charlie faces the bitter world of exile after his crime and becomes tormented to the point of suicide until someone finds the strength to reach out a hand and offer him comfort. Will this make a difference? Will he listen?


**Lost & Insecure **

**(You Found Me)**

**Summary:-**** The day he was no longer one of them, was the day he stopped living. Numb with pain, heartbroken with a shattering grief, Charlie is about to discover the horrible sensation of isolation. Excluded and exiled from camp, ignored and secretly gossiped about by those he'd professed to love, he will enter the single most painful journey of his life in order to find redemption. This is a chapter of Charlie's life describing his ordeals on and off island under the microscope. O/Sh, AU. **

The day he was exiled was also the day he stopped living. Emotionally, that is. Whilst air continued to drift in and out of his lungs, the soul of Charlie Hieronymous Pace was dead. Dead to the world, dead to himself.

Frozen by terror, numb with grief, he had managed to convince himself that Liam was right. He was useless, worthless and now, a disgrace to his fellow survivors. He sat on the beach, distancing himself away from everyone else. Nobody saw the tears he cried, nor did they feel the gut wrenching pain that tore him in two. Half of him was back home, strumming his guitar and sitting by a beautiful fire with a mug of good old British tea, occasionally stooping to write down the words of his song. The other half of him was living out this nightmare day by day. The real injustice lay not in the pounding of Locke's fists against the fragile face he had come to know, nor in Claire kicking him out of her tent. It didn't lie in the false concern of Jack as he went to stitch up his face, nor the pitiful look Hurley had bestowed it him as he had stared mutely at everyone. No. The real injustice was the fact that Charlie hadn't had one word of comfort, nor sympathy after his kidnap ordeal. Sure, Rose had offered him comfort but she had let him down by telling him she couldn't help him, moments after telling him he needed to ask for help.

So, who did he need to ask for help? No one was going to help him here, he knew that for sure. No one would talk to him anymore and he'd given up trying. The best greeting he'd received had been a curt nod from Jack and a small, wary smile from Kate. He didn't even want to go into who had given him the worst greeting.

_Are you really surprised you ended up here? Like this? _The sly, cruel voice in the back of his mind asked. _You always knew, deep down, you'd end up hurting her. I gotta say, I never thought you'd stoop so low as to steal her baby. _So even the sanctity of his mind was invaded by hatred. Charlie just wanted to curl up and die and there were moments when his hand had crept up to his neck. The motion had been stopped by the flashing image that zoomed at him every time he did so. The burning rope around his neck had done some kind of permanent damage, for Charlie found he could no longer run anywhere without wheezing. Pity Jack didn't notice_ that_. Also, the scars along his neck were an angry red in colour and the area that surrounded them was purple. Not exactly a healthy set of colours but he'd gladly face the noose again rather than spend one more day in Hell.

The third day in isolation dawned more quickly than he'd anticipated. Charlie's new bed was close to the ocean and enough of a distance away from the main camp that he didn't have to bump into people. He sat up and clumsily got to his feet, breathing in the smell of the ocean as though it was his day. Then, avoiding everyone's stares, he made his way into the main camp to get some water. The hostile stares of Claire, Locke and even Sun made him drink quickly before backing away. When would this nightmare stop? When would this unbelievable agony cease to torment his soul?

All of a sudden, just as he had reached his new, pathetic patch of sand, an old, familiar pain reached his throat. Without knowing it, Charlie had been forcing back his withdrawal as he took care of Claire and Aaron. Now, it was catching up to him with the equivalent force of a stampede of wild bulls. His throat felt like it was on fire and his eyes watered with the force of the pain. His very blood was alight with the twisted, monstrous pain of his rash decision to quit drugs. Rash, but wise. He would not surrender to this agony; he would suffer in silence like he always did. With no one to comfort him or, at the very least, offer him some water, Charlie curled up into a ball and allowed the soft waves to cuddle his toes and caress his broken body. **&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

When Charlie woke up, he stretched his sore body out and winced as his near death experience caught up to him. It wasn't just lies he'd fed to Claire. When Jack had asked about what Charlie had seen, heard and remembered of his ordeal, the younger man had simply replied that he couldn't remember anything. That was a lie. The young man had watched Claire being dragged off by two aggressive young men, about his age or younger, then witnessed the fashioning of what was to become his noose. He'd watched this all in silence, not daring to move or breathe.

_"You move or even say a word and we'll snap your neck. No questions asked," _the man who'd held Charlie's arms behind his back had whispered. _"Your girlfriend will be fine, we are just sending a message to your friends." _

Even now, several weeks old, the memory still hurt. Tears of rage and anger caused Charlie to punch the sand in frustration. It seemed that he was the Island's own chew toy, constantly being digested into a whirlwind of pain only to be spat back out again in order to recover. He could never recover. It would be years, perhaps even longer, for him to be able to banish the memories to the back of his mind. Everything he'd ever done had been for others, not for himself. The formation of Driveshaft had been Liam's idea, not his. Charlie had been perfectly content to just write music and then perform it on the street. He had never needed attention from the public. Admittedly, the decision to start taking drugs had been his idea, but it was heavily influenced by Liam. How was he to know what was right and what was wrong when his world had been horribly distorted by fame? Driveshaft had been the worst thing to happen to him. To Liam as well.

"Stupid, accursed life!" He muttered vehemently, rising to his feet and chucking a large rock out into the ocean. The splash didn't satisfy him though. He had to destroy something else. Jack was on fire patrol, making sure no one (meaning Charlie) got near to the matches or any source of gas. Marching through the jungle, Charlie grabbed every branch, every stone that he could find and chucked it everywhere. He screamed at the heavens of God's betrayal, of his own stupidity and then fell to his knees and sobbed. One mistake had cost him dearly and it seemed the Island wasn't going to let him get off with a light punishment.

A strip of sunlight filled the area that Charlie was kneeling in, giving him hope for the first time. The light, however, landed on the blade of a knife that was sticking out of the ground. Was this a sign? Was he supposed to just...stick it in himself and hope for redemption that way? Charlie felt sick. What kind of twisted world was this, where God gloated on the weak and needy by offering them ways of suicide? He couldn't do it. Or could he?

_You were capable of murdering Ethan, _the sly voice goaded, _you could just as easily stick this blade into your heart. Rid the world of one more monster. _

"No," he gasped, clutching his neck and half gagging. "I'm not...a monster." What did that make him? He was an exile, nothing more and nothing less. He was even lower than Sawyer and _that _was saying something. Retching, Charlie threw up in the lonely jungle and began to pray. He prayed for redemption, for Claire and for the precious babe that lived in her arms. He didn't want it, not anymore. There was no turning back now.

The thick vein along his arm was pulsing now, almost taunting him. What was happening? Was he truly losing his mind? Did this mean the end of the sane, rational Charlie Pace? No, because he had never existed. His fingers reached out for the knife and caressed the hilt of it as though it was an old friend. A small, hollow smile flickered across his face as he stared at the silver blade. It was calling him, begging him to join flesh to blade and be done with it.

"Charlie?!" The shocked voice of Libby brought him to his senses. He turned around and saw her staring at him, her eyes widened in fear and terror. He tried to view the scene from her perspective. A half crazed, half wild man was clutching a knife to his neck, smiling as though this was perfectly natural. What the f-?

He couldn't stop the tears flooding his face but, as a show of good faith, he dropped the knife. Libby stared at him, her cheeks white with fear. He didn't want to put her through this kind of pain and so, he bolted. No animal could outrun him now, for he felt invincible, unbeatable, unchallengeable. Like drugs, the hit only lasted a moment before it was gone, replaced instead with a cold sensation trickling down his back.

"I'm sorry, Libby." He whispered, knowing the image of him with the knife would haunt her for a long time. "Sorry you had to see that." Or was that meant to be 'I'm sorry you interrupted'? It was so confusing. The goading, sadistic voice inside his head was longing for blood to be spilled, longing for the sweet embrace of death to clutch him and overwhelm him with its rank breath that reeked of corpses. The sane part of Charlie, who was still desperate for redemption, was trying to live and bide his time until he had won back people's friendship but it was a losing battle.

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Jack had taken to reading _Crime and Punishment, _as a means of passing time. So far, the accident count was low and he was satisfied. With responsibility and safety though, came boredom. Sawyer had recommended reading as a hobby, proclaiming it as 'the best thing since sex, though inarguably less enjoyable.' He'd grabbed the first book he'd come across and started reading.

"Jack?" A timid voice called. Jack sat up and smiled as Libby came walking in. Something was wrong though. She was shaking and her cheeks were as white as sour milk. Her lips were fumbling against each other as her teeth bit down on them, silencing her from speech. What had happened now? Secretly though, he was relieved to have found a distraction from the dark world of his book.

"You ok?" He asked, slipping into doctor mode. He examined her carefully and placed his warm fingertips along her face, hoping to arouse a blush in her. It was unnatural for someone to be that white without good cause.

"I saw someone in the jungle," she whispered in fright. "At first, I thought it was some kind of animal because his face was so...so..._inhuman. _I realised it was Charlie!" She saw Jack's face tighten at the name but continued with her story. "I think he's seriously messed up because...he had a _knife _to his own throat. And he...he...was _smiling. _" She dissolved into tears, clearly disturbed by this image. "I said from the get go he was going to suffer but no one listened. I'm scared he'll take his own life."

"What?" For once in his life, Jack was utterly speechless. He knew the guy was a little crazy but surely not crazy? The cold barriers that he'd put up against Charlie were beginning to break down. In truth, he should've been watching the guy a little more closer. Now he came to think about it, seeing Charlie yesterday had been like seeing a walking corpse. Charlie had been thin from lack of eating and had been as pale as Libby was now, if not paler.

"People here are too harsh, too unforgiving!" Libby continued, her eyes narrowing in fury. "I'm going to do something about it. I want you to tell me all you know about this guy, no holding back." She grabbed Jack's elbow, suddenly in control of her emotions, and steered him back to the couch. "Tell me about Charlie."

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Charlie was wandering in the jungle, still holding the knife. He had decided, sub-consciously, that if everyone thought he was mad he might as well play the part. Now that he had accepted he was crazy, it was just a matter of fitting into the role and making sure he kept away from everyone else.

Stumbling through the jungle was no easy task, but Charlie persevered. Thoughts of Claire and Aaron kept popping into his mind but every time he saw her angry, betrayed, hurt expression, the knife would find its way along his skin and touching the throbbing vein that stuck out in a treacherous manner.

All of a sudden, he could see fruit on the ground. Whether someone had picked it or not remained to be seen but, with the quickness of an animal, he had picked it up and forced it down his throat. Fruit had never tasted so sweet and a genuine smile lit up his features as relief swept through his body. For one glorious moment, the withdrawal was banished and he felt alive again.

The old saying, _what goes up, must surely come down _applied to this feeling too. Next thing he knew, he was back to his numb self, clutching his broken heart and wishing for redemption. Or, at the very least, a shoulder to cry on. But who would listen to him? Who would talk to someone they believed to be a serious drug addict? With this sad thought in mind, he stumbled back on the beach and went for a morning paddle. The water woke him up a bit and as he stood up, he looked at his reflection. He saw two things; one was a man at the height of his career, looking so blissfully happy and ecstatic that it made the real Charlie release a tear for that man. The second vision was him crawling on his hands and knees, literally begging for drugs. Drugs helped him get by in those days, for when he inhaled the sweet heroin he could see himself playing again and becoming richer and successful than ever before.

"Hey," a soft, familiar voice murmured. Charlie leaped back in alarm and saw the beautiful, radiant face of Claire staring at him. A kind of horrified look crossed her face before she composed herself.  
"Why are you here?" He croaked, trying to make himself presentable. "If it's to mock me and yell at me, I'd rather not hear it." He stared at his feet, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole.

"This is exactly _why _I don't want you around Aaron," Claire replied, not unkindly. "Look at what the drugs are-"

"You think that's what's causing the problem?" Charlie snapped. "You honestly believe I'm taking drugs? Well, if you knew what it took for me to _quit _the bloody things, you'd know I wouldn't want them back in my life." He knew his hissing and demented looks were frightening Claire but he didn't care. "_This _isn't because of drugs. This is because I'm a pathetic excuse of a man." He didn't say this last line with any self pity. He stated it as though it was an absolutely, undeniable truth.

"Why did you take the bloody statues then?" Claire asked, beginning to lose her own temper. "Why did you lie to me?"

"Be honest Claire," Charlie was exasperated. "What would you have said if I'd told you I'd brought back a statue filled with heroin? You'd be reacting in the same way as you are now! I took the statue because...it was a reminder." He mumbled.

"A reminder?" Claire repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah." Charlie spat. "A reminder of what I had used to be. The statue was there so that every time I felt awful or disgusted about myself, I'd know that there was something worse in my possession." He shrugged, knowing it made no sense. He turned away, signalling that the conversation was over.  
"I try and justify your actions to myself, because I want to believe you're a good man but you...It's like I don't know you any more." Claire snapped before stalking off. Charlie scowled at her back, not sure what she was trying to say. Why did she always build up his confidence, only to shatter it with her harsh, unforgiving words?

With nothing left to do, he collapsed on to the sand. The sun greeted him briefly and the sand felt warm beneath his face but that was the only bit of good news the day had to offer. With no one talking to him and with his sanity replaced by a wild, untameable streak, Charlie knew he was all alone. Rescue wasn't coming, he was probably the only person to realise that, and so in that sense he was perhaps the most realistic person. It did nothing to improve his mood, however and there were black clouds looming ahead that suggested a storm was coming.

His eyes were drawn to a sudden movement nearby. Jack and Libby were walking together, the latter shaking her blonde hair in anger and gesturing wildly at Jack. Charlie frowned, wondering what could have got peaceful, quiet, calm Libby so riled up and why Jack was looking...guilty? He couldn't muster up enough interest to continue staring at them and so he chose to skip rocks across the flat, plain ocean. It was probably better that he averted his eyes at that moment, for Libby was staring at his shrunken, hunched figure as though trying to work him out.

_You know, _the sly voice in the back of his mind spoke up again, its coarse, rough voice sounding so conniving and yet convincing at the same timne. _I bet everyone here is just waiting to get their hands on you and shoot you. Save them the ammo and kill yourself. Do it! _

Charlie shook his head in bewilderment, knowing he shouldn't listen to this voice and that he should just sit here and be a 'good boy'. So why were his feet forcing his body upwards and moving towards the hidden depths of the jungle? Why were his hands reaching out and grabbing spare bits of vine, twig and branches along the way? And why were his fingers swiftly fashioning a very familiar shape out of the vine, twig and branches?

When he had finished examining his noose, Charlie found the same cluster of trees that he had been hung from and found he didn't have the strength to kill himself. He just stared up at the trees, a haunted look dominating his once handsome features. Where had it all gone wrong? When did his dreams of redemption stop becoming dreams and become just fantasies? If he'd had his own theme tune, it would've been a sorrowful piece of music, filled with low notes and a sprinkle of high notes. He would've called it..._Searching For Redemption. _

"Charlie?" Libby's voice, soft and mild broke into his thoughts but he wasn't alarmed this time. His distraught eyes met hers and he saw something resembling compassion in them. "What are you doing here?"

"Remembering." He choked out, clutching his neck and holding the noose up to her. She understood at once. Her eyes gazed around the area and something close to a shudder shook her body. Libby couldn't see what everyone had against Charlie. In their eyes, he was a druggie who was capable of murder, kidnapping, theft and probably worse. In her eyes, she saw a lost and broken young man who was trying to do the right thing but going the wrong way about it.

"If I hadn't have walked in, what would you have done?" She asked calmly. "Be honest."

Charlie tried to tell her but his heart skipped a beat and he found it difficult to put into words about his actions. His dry, cracked lips framed the words but he couldn't speak. "Was...gonna...hang. Meant to be...dead." Was all he came out with before he gave up trying.

"Why?" Libby asked, not unkindly. "You're a young man with his whole life ah-"

"What kind of life do I have ahead of _me_?" Charlie demanded, finally coming to life. "Look at me! I'm a sodding wreck. I have no future, my past is dead to me and my current situation is making me wish I wasn't alive!"

"So you have a minor setback," Libby's lip wobbled with emotion, trying not to cry for him. "Everyone might be angry _now _but people change. Killing yourself is not the answer, not at all. It's just going to make people feel guilty that they didn't speak to you more, maybe even provoking more deaths. Charlie...you're alive and you're meant to be alive. Isn't that enough?" She reached out a hesitant hand but pulled it back when Charlie flinched.

"People hate me." He stated calmly. "I've accepted that. What I _can't _accept is the fact that _every single night _for the past _three weeks, _I've woken up to the image of mine and Claire's kidnap ordeal and no one raises a finger to help. One night," he was starting to warm up now, his voice dripping with bitterness, "I woke up literally dripping with sweat. My hands were wrapped around my throat, I had Claire's name escaping my from my lips and I just remember everyone staring at me. Staring as if I were mad."

"When was this?" Libby asked quietly.

"Does it matter?" Charlie asked, equally as quiet. "The only thing that matters is that I've gone past the point of caring. Once upon a time, we lived together and swore we'd die together too. No man was left behind and all that crap." He panted a little bit, realising it was the time of the day that the withdrawal hit him the hardest. "Now, it's every man for himself. And, this is the bitch of it all, Jack doesn't seem to care! He acts like he's the saint of us all, yet now he's changed. They've all changed."

Libby was surprised he was venting all his frustration out on Jack instead of Locke. After all, it was the latter man who'd punched Charlie not Jack. It was Locke who'd caused all this havoc surely, not Jack. She was only a bystander though and therefore couldn't judge who hated who, why people did the things they did and what each person's role was.

"Come with me," she extended her hand again. "I can help you."

Charlie lifted his head and stared at her, confused by the words she was saying. "W-what? Help me h-how?"

"I was a clinical psychiatrist, I know something about people's suffering." Libby explained, edging towards him closely. "You can trust me. I can talk to you, release your demons. You **can **get through this but only by talking it out. Bottling it up just allows the pain to eat you alive, I've seen it happen so many times."

"Why would you want to help m-me?" Charlie demanded weakly. "I'm useless and I can't...can't be who everyone wants me to be." He started crying weakly, holding the noose tighter in his grasp.

"You're not useless," Libby firmly said. "You're just confused and scared. It's ok to be those things. But don't _ever _think that you're alone in this. You have friends, people who care about you. They're just...scared for you. Scared what you might do."

There was just silence, pure silence. Charlie contemplated what Libby said and desperately desired it to be true. He couldn't loosen his grasp on the noose though because part of him, the part that had fuelled him in to starting the fire and steal Aaron, was still yelling at him to let go of his pathetic life. Whereas before it had been a raging cacophony of noise in his head, now it was just a faintly annoying buzz.

"Please Charlie," Libby implored him, her hand outstretched. "Drop the noose, take my hand and we'll talk. It can be here if you like. I just...I just need you to know you're not alone. You've never been alone."

The words jolted Charlie out of his numb state. To know one is not alone is always a pleasant feeling but for Charlie it was like someone had just tossed him a life ring whilst he was on the brink of drowning. His fingers unclenched and allowed the thick knot of vines to fall to the ground. With a small sigh of relief, he caged the voice that had caused him havoc and threw away the key. There was still a part of him that wasn't ready to talk, wasn't ready to make the leap of faith on the blind whim that someone might actually care about his well being. For all he knew, she could be just using him to lure him back to camp and then all hell would be unleashed.

"Ok, so what now?" He challenged, aware he sounded like a petulant child. "You think after one therapy session, I'm gonna be as right as rain? I don't think the world works like that."

"I know," Libby smiled at him softly. "But I think you'll be surprised how much you want to get off your chest." She looked at him meaningfully and he knew she was referring to his hanging. Somehow, it didn't surprise him that Jack had blabbed about that. Someday he might be on good terms with him again but their easy going, friendly relationship might never be the same again. As for Locke...well he just hoped that he never ran into that bald freak with a gun in his hand.

After a moment's pause, he took a step forward and took Libby's hand. He smiled at her tentatively and was rewarded with a proud smile from her. He didn't know what he was going to do and he found himself stepping into the unknown as he walked beside her.

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That night, a night full of miracles, Charlie was granted peace. He spoke to Libby about everything. He told her what he saw when he was with the Others, how he felt like he'd betrayed Claire to her fate when they took her away and what it was like being brought to the very edge of the abyss and back again.

Libby didn't say make any judgements nor did she interrupt. She just listened.

"You know the part that killed me was, no pun intended?" Charlie croaked, staring at her and blinking back tears. "It was knowing that I had placed all my hopes on salvation on a pregnant woman and I betrayed her. They told me they'd snap my neck if I so much as breathed and yet, _I did nothing. _Did my own life really matter? Even if I died attempting to save her, it would've at least given me peace of mind knowing I did _something._"

Libby nodded and took his hand. They were far from camp, their only source of light was the small fire they had built for themselves and the two of them huddled together was a small source of comfort.

"I think you're heaping the blame on yourself because you're trying to justify your actions now." She replied slowly. "By trying to save Claire and the baby, you're sub-consciously trying to make up for not saving her. For not saving them. It's not your fault Charlie. She got back safely and the baby is healthy and happy."

"Yeah but I'll never know what she went through during those two weeks," Charlie whispered. "She could've been going through hell and I was just sitting on a log feeling sorry for my bloody self-"

"That's a lie." Libby interrupted. Her eyes were fierce and she was determined to defend this poor, vulnerable man. "You should've had this conversation a long time ago, Charlie. Rose doesn't really count because she told you to ask for help from God. Really, you needed this talk with someone you could count on and trust. Up until this point, I would've thought you'd have gone to Jack."

"Jack is busy leading his flock," Charlie said, without bitterness. "I'll always be a stranger to him, no matter what. He saved my life but at what cost? Was saving my life really a good thing?"

"I've saved you twice now," Libby warned him. "Don't go getting all melancholy on me now." She decided to share a little secret of her own with him. "I used to be in a mental institution you know."

"Really?" Charlie visibly perked up. His eyes lit up with intrigue and he seemed more active knowing that his secret sharing was about to be reciprocated.

"Yeah." She sighed heavily. "My husband, David, died and I took it badly. I was distraught, in fact. And I ended up giving the one gift he'd ever given me to a total stranger. I would overdose all the time, pretending David had told me to do it and my family...they became worried. I nearly died thinking I was right and they were wrong and that I had no one. Don't make the mistake I made, Charlie."

Out of all the things she'd said, or in this case _not _said, this was the anecdote that would stay with him forever. Knowing that someone else had gone through what he was going through now and knowing she'd beaten the depression, raised his spirits. He smiled and glanced at the sky.  
"Look, a moth." He pointed at the ink black sky. Libby turned to look and sure enought a small, flickering shadow was making its way up to the moon, seeming to be untouchable in the sanctity of the night.

"Does that hold any significance for you?" She enquired curiously.

Charlie told her the quitting drugs story, about how Locke had connived him into quitting by subtly comparing him to a moth. Then, he revealed to her about Jack getting trapped into a cave in and seeing the moth in there, inspiring him to break them out. The moment he'd burned his stash, the moth had been there again bursting out into the beautiful night, symbolising freedom for all.

"Wow." Libby stared at him in a quiet kind of awe. "That's...that's really moving." She flickered her gaze to the moth and began to ponder whether Claire knew the whole truth about this man. If she had heard _half _the things that she had heard tonight, maybe there would be hope for a reconciliation with at least one person. Then, inspiration hit her.

"I think everything you've told me tonight, you should tell Claire." She replied quietly. "I think she needs to know this."

"What?! Are you crazy?" Charlie leaped back in alarm. "I can't tell her this! She'd never believe me and it would only make her hate me more."

"No." Libby affirmed. "If anything, talking would be key to you reconciling with her. If you take the first step, make a small, cautious step towards reconciliation, she might follow."

"Might?" Charlie scoffed the idea but his eyes were wary. His shoulders slumped and his eyes averted to the ground. "I-I don't know Libby."

"She's hurting too, Charlie." Libby said quietly. "It might seem hard to believe but she is. She misses your company more than she dares to admit. She hides her anxiety for you behind a sharp, unforgiving façade. Prove to her that you're not a druggie, prove your affection for her. Above all else, prove that she still has a friend in you."

Still hesitant, Charlie nodded. He shyly took Libby's hand and squeezed it once, showing that he was thankful for her help. No, more than thankful. _Grateful. _He would forever be indebted to her.

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A night without someone can do wonders in changing people's perspectives on things. Whilst Charlie and Libby had been talking, someone had alerted Jack to Libby's absence, to which he'd replied;

"Yeah, I know. She's with Charlie."

That one utterance started a chain of whispers. Everyone knew that Libby was a 'shrink' and that she wouldn't just be out there with Charlie for just social chit chat. People began to feel uneasy but it wasn't because of Charlie, oh no. For the first time in a while, they were concerned _for _him.

When the silhouettes of Charlie and Libby appeared on the edge of the sand, people noticed a visible change in the former person. His eyes were no longer haunted and he wore a genuine smile, making him appear a lot more approachable. The sunlight revealed a much changed character and people were willing to forgive and forget.

Kate was the first to approach him and she flung her arms around him, whispering in his ear:

"Welcome back, Charlie." She kissed his cheek and released him, smiling at him. Charlie received the hug and kiss with a smile but part of him couldn't help but feel betrayed by her. That voice wasn't loud though and he was able to block it out with positive thoughts.

The one face he sought out was staring at him from her tent. She gave him a half smile which was definitely an encouraging start. Before he could go to her, he felt a tug at his arm. He turned around and saw the guilty face of Jack, smiling sheepishly at him.

"I'm-" he began but Charlie found he didn't need to hear apologies anymore.

"It's ok." He interrupted. "I'm at peace now." God, he made it sound like he had died and gone to heaven!

"How did I not notice that?" Jack pointed at his neck in alarm. He rushed off to his tent and brought an assortment of creams and pills to soothe the pain. Though it was undoubtedly sweet of him to try and make it up to him, Charlie still felt the estrangement between them. Perhaps it would fade away, perhaps it wouldn't.

After Jack had talked to him for a bit, Charlie made an excuse and slipped out. He didn't need to go to her tent though, for she was already waiting for him. With a warm smile, she extended a hand and he took it without question. They had lots to talk about and with Aaron being looked after by Sun, the world was theirs. They walked side by side into the sunrise and beyond, knowing things could only get better from here.

_~The End~ _

_Thanks for Reading!_


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